


You

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [30]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Camaraderie, Dragon Age Quest: Mine Massacre, Dragon Age Quest: The Awiergen Scrolls, Friendship, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Side Romance: Isabela/Merrill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Fenris and Azzan get a little bit closer to learning who Hawke’s stalker is. Meanwhile, the relationship between Azzan and Fenris shows a couple of cracks.





	You

He felt Danarius’ touch upon his neck, heard the man’s voice in his ear. That gray beard brushed against his jaw as the mage put his full weight on Fenris, forcing him to keep the man standing. Those fingers slid over his skin. He felt more resigned than sick after so many years.

But just as he felt that sick magic reach inside him, something warm and sunny and bright broke through the haze. The weight disappeared. The light tore through the image of Danarius until only a tiny meadow and a cool, summer breeze remained. He stared around him in confusion; he’d never seen such a place before, yet it felt so very familiar. Like… like sanctuary. Almost like _home_.

_Inamorato…_

He didn’t recognize the voice. Any chance for concern, however, melted away; even as he looked around, the dream faded away into nothing. He sighed in relief.

* * *

“See?” Fenris said with a smirk, ignoring the sweat dripping off his nose, “I told you we could do it.”

Isabela cocked a brow. “Are you kidding me, Elf?” Varric called from the back. “I saw my life flash before my eyes at least a dozen times.”

Fenris looked back in time to see Azzan wince. Considering he’d been the one to pull them into this mad venture, he could imagine how Varric’s words had to make the man feel. “Hawke had you,” he said.

Of course, looking now, not even Azzan seemed to be in perfect health. It was rare for any of them to be injured after a battle, rarer still for Azzan to not immediately heal them if they were. At the moment, though Fenris could still feel the man’s healing aura, Azzan leaned heavily on his knees, his fingers white-knuckled as he gasped for breath. Those arms trembled with the effort of holding himself up. Fenris ran to Azzan’s side. “Are you all right?”

Azzan nodded, though he smiled gratefully when Fenris put his hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Just a bit tired,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to use this much mana.”

Fenris frowned. He hadn’t thought Azzan’s magic had turned that terrifying golden color during the fight, but he hadn’t been able to chance watching out, either. Even he had fallen twice during the battle, revived after some unknown span of time. There had been so many demons called forth at the behest of the one they’d hunted that, more times than he liked to count, he’d lost track of Azzan and Isabela and even Varric in all the madness. If he was honest, he would have to admit that the battle had been worse than he could ever have foreseen. He’d thought he’d become powerful enough to properly protect Azzan, but he’d just fallen the moment the numbers had become too high.

He thought at first that was why Azzan seemed to devour the sight of him the moment he caught his breath. He thought it was, perhaps, the reason why Azzan reached up to curl his fingers around Fenris’. But then Azzan looked out at the others, his eyes still hungry as he took in Varric and Isabela, both holding tight to one another as they cleaned their weapons or checked their quivers. Fenris’ teeth gritted. “How close was it?” he asked.

Azzan’s gaze was dark. Fenris didn’t know how long he’d been out those two times; the first time, he’d felt like he’d barely closed his eyes before he’d found himself cocooned in Azzan’s magic. The demons that had torn into his skin had still clustered around him. But the second time… the second time, he’d woken alone, with neither friend nor foe beside him. The only solace he’d had then was the familiar feel of Azzan’s magic around him.

Azzan only said one, quiet word, but in it, Fenris heard thousands. “Close.”

Close. Close enough that, even with Azzan’s magic and a slew of health potions, they’d all fallen to sheer numbers at least once.

Fenris helped Azzan stand straight, then put his sword away and swept his sweaty hair back from his forehead. Azzan’s gaze caught on the middle of his forehead for a moment before his bangs slid stickily back into place.

“There had to have been two or three rage demons alone,” Varric groused. “Remind me never to let you pick our vacation spot again, Hawke.”

“What?” Hawke said, still a bit winded. “This wasn’t _a day at the beach_ for you?”

Varric groaned. “Those puns of yours are insult to injury, Marshmallow.”

The nickname was meant to soften the blow, but Fenris still caught the sight of the second wince Azzan made before he nodded. “I know. Thank you – all of you – for putting up with this.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “You owe me a few rounds of drinks, but I guess we can call it even after that. At least I have one hell of a story to tell.”

“Quite the adventure,” Isabela agreed. “Though I’m always getting into one with you, Hawke.” She brushed at her clothes. Her arms and legs were scraped nearly black with dirt and grime from the floor. Her white clothes would need a miracle to be saved.

Fenris leaned close, pretending to use Hawke’s weight to fix his shin guard. “They’re giving you a hard time, Hawke.”

“I know.” Of course, that didn’t seem to stop the man from taking it like a blow to the chin, anyway. Fenris sighed. They would have to talk it out later. When they were alone. It would be the only way he could speak so emotionally, and the only way to get Hawke to open up about his fears.

To the others, the stalker was just a minor annoyance in Hawke’s life – well, to everyone but Varric, who had seen long before Fenris just how badly Hawke was being haunted. Because, back then, Varric had been the one person who had stood by Hawke through thick and thin. For that alone, Fenris held Varric in the highest esteem. Everything else just made the dwarf irreplaceable.

They all slowly settled and made their way out of the underground passage – a place frightfully close to Hawke’s home, and the most important reason they’d all gone down to drag the creature from its depths and kill it once and for all. It turned out Varric hadn’t been kidding about the rounds of drinks, to which Isabela vehemently agreed. So instead of a relaxing evening at home soothing away Hawke’s worries, they all headed for The Hanged Man.

Once they were past Hawke’s home, Varric insisted on inviting Aveline and Sebastian ‘so they could hear the tale.’ Isabela’s eyes lit up, and she hurried off to get the mages, because ‘they won’t believe this!’

Varric had pointed at the two of them. “No running off,” he’d said. “I expect some ale to be waiting for me when I get to my suite.”

“We’ll be there,” Fenris had said, barely able to keep from growling. The instant the two left, he’d said, “you know what this is.”

“A trap,” Azzan said the moment they were gone, sounding oddly amused for someone whose friends wanted to decide where and when they told them their private business. “How long do you think it took them to come up with this?”

“Months.” They shared a grin. “Are you all right with this?” Azzan cocked his head. “With them finding out,” he clarified.

Azzan smiled. “I’ve wanted to tell the world. The only reason I haven’t is because–”

Fenris could already guess. “I want them to know,” he said. He thought suddenly of Isabela. Even though he knew now that Azzan hadn’t been with anyone, the thought of making it known burned through him. What about the next time another Zevran came through, thinking Azzan’s horrible puns were actually him flirting?

(Seriously, who called themselves a ‘ridiculously handsome fugitive,’ only to think a response of, “well, you’re certainly _high, wide, and handsome”_ as flirting? Or say Hawke can tie him up and manhandle him – who even said that _at all_ – only to hear, “You may be more than one _man_ can _handle”_ as another flirt? …All right, who was he kidding, Hawke’s puns could easily be misconstrued, and the ridiculously happy look he got whenever he made one wasn’t just disgustingly adorable, but also easily misinterpreted, if one didn’t know him and was hoping for the signs.)

(Like with Tallis. Three puns using the word ‘fancy’ and two more about being sneaky, and Fenris wouldn’t have been surprised if the conniving bitch hadn’t tried to steal a kiss – oh, no, now he was making puns, too! – from Hawke while they were in that cell. The cell Fenris had tried desperately to find, certain that Hawke was dead. Certain that he’d lost the man already. Certain that he’d been left alone again, that someone had taken Hawke away from him, that he would have to raze the place to the ground after finding Azzan’s corpse… best to stop thinking about those hours right there.)

Fenris wanted to stake his claim on Azzan, so everyone would know Hawke was his. He might have felt guilty about such possessiveness if Azzan hadn’t been downright _glowing_ at him the instant he’d stated his desire.

They arrived at The Hanged Man alone, with none of the others yet returned from their trip gathering everyone for the news and what would likely be a long night fending off inappropriate questions. Fenris predicted an hour before he would want to leave, and an entire night watching Azzan smile, his happiness beyond words. It would be worth it, he decided, to keep Azzan from remembering the battle they’d nearly lost, and to think instead on something that brought Azzan joy. He couldn’t pretend to be untouched by it, either; to know that being with him made Azzan happy brought him happiness, as well.

Azzan led the way to Varric’s room, flagging down Nina on the way and asking for “a full house, please, Nina.” They took their usual seats – next to each other, another clue that seemed so obvious now – and waited. After only a few seconds of silence, they struck up an easy conversation about the battle, about what had gone wrong and how they could improve.

Nina brought their first round of drinks, carrying four. Azzan stood to help her unload her burden, even as they continued discussing the way they’d entered the room. They’d had only a single corridor the size of a doorway into the old passage, and they’d placed Fenris and Isabela front and center in preparation. It had seemed like a good strategy, up until the moment the pride demon had called forth a dozen shades, two rage demons, and another pride demon.

They talked about keeping Isabela back, trading the enemy’s focus between her and Fenris, versus the merits of splitting up the party. Aveline arrived in the middle of the conversation, and they dropped it in favor of welcoming her. The woman looked at the table, put her hands on her hips, and rolled her eyes. “There is no emergency, is there? Varric made it up so I would come over here.”

“Probably,” Fenris said. The woman grabbed her drink before she even sat in her usual seat. She took a long swig. Nina came in with four more cups – they only had seven friends, but the need for seconds was already in the near future. “Do you not want to hear about our daring adventure down in Darktown?”

“Or the other completely surprising news Varric’s gonna make us share?” Azzan said with a grin.

Aveline rolled her eyes again. “Maker help us.”

“You gonna _make_ Varric _meet his Maker?”_ Azzan said. Fenris closed his eyes and took another sip of ale. He eyed the amount of liquor in Hawke’s glass. Already almost half empty. Not good.

Aveline shook her head and took another healthy gulp of her ale.

“Need another _helping?”_

She took another gulp.

“Does something _ale_ you?”

Fenris decided to come to her rescue. “We did want to discuss battle tactics with everyone, once Varric finished embellishing the tale. Truth be told, we had a difficult time of it.”

The reminder actually had Azzan back to drinking instead of making puns, and that, if nothing else, clued Aveline in to how serious they were. She nodded. “How bad was it?”

“All of us fell in battle at least once, and Hawke nearly depleted all of his mana.”

Her eyes widened. “That _is_ serious. To think such a thing was hidden just beneath Kirkwall. Just beneath your house, Hawke.”

Azzan nodded. He’d actually wanted Aveline to come with them, as well, but the woman had been too busy dealing with more harassment from the templars. The reminder made Fenris’ shoulders itch; if the templars ever broke through the guards, they would quickly overtake the people – which included the nobles. Then the flimsy protection Hawke received would be gone.

Merrill was the next to arrive, taking her usual place in a seat next to where Isabela would sit. After everything that had happened with her demon friend and foolish keeper, Merrill’s bitterness toward Hawke had dissipated, filled instead with a chagrin that often kept her from being able to meet Hawke’s gaze. Considering Hawke had been right, if too kind, it was the least she could do.

She wasn’t showing her usual despondency at the moment, however. Instead she was nearly bouncing in her seat, wide eyes on the two of them.

“Every single one of them already knows,” Fenris said.

Azzan smiled at him. “Grousing? I think it makes it easier.”

Merrill squealed. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

Aveline chuckled. “Just you wait; this is going to turn into utter chaos.”

Azzan shook his cup; it was only about a quarter full. Fenris slid the extra cup toward himself. “That’s why I’m starting early,” Azzan said. He blinked down at his drink for several moments. Fenris frowned. Azzan wasn’t drinking because everyone was going to make a big deal out of them being together. He was drinking because of the fight. He’d said it had been close. Fenris was starting to worry that it had been even closer than he’d imagined.

Sebastian and Varric arrived together, the two of them discussing lines of sight and possible ways to hit multiple enemies at once – apparently he and Hawke weren’t the only ones who wished to plan out the battle – and sat down in their usual seats, Varric at the head of the table and Sebastian next to Hawke. Sebastian eyed Hawke’s now empty cup and frowned. He sat slowly. “How are you, Hawke?”

Hawke smiled at Sebastian. “Well,” he answered. His smile was a bit lopsided. Fenris watched Sebastian’s brows furrow.

“How are things in the Chantry?” Aveline asked, derailing the conversation before it could delve too deeply into Azzan’s emotional health. Sebastian got pulled into a long discussion on the rising tension between the templars and mages, and how he wished the chantry mother would come down harder on the mages. Fenris leaned closer to Azzan. He caught the human’s eye. Azzan smiled at him. Not well, but still all right.

“Slower,” he said, then handed the spare cup to the man. Azzan nodded and took a small sip.

The conversation derailed, anyway. Before long, Sebastian was nearly ranting about the mages not knowing their place. Hawke nearly sank beneath the table before Anders and Isabela arrived. The mage barely stepped into the room before spitting, “Love how you’re talking about the horrors of the mages without once speaking on the atrocities your dear templar captain is exhibiting on them. Even your precious non-mages aren’t safe, and Elthina still isn’t doing anything about it.”

“You can’t blame her for what’s happening,” Sebastian said. Anders snorted as he made his way to his seat. Isabela rolled her eyes as she took her own, immediately engaging the quiet Merrill with an elbow poke and a grin. “And Meredith is only reacting so radically because of the mage’s actions.”

“The mages didn’t start this!” Anders snapped.

“All right, that’s enough of that,” Varric said, cutting through the chatter before the fight could get any worse. Azzan had yet to speak, but his shoulders were hunched. Fenris couldn’t understand. Why wasn’t Hawke speaking? He always quietly insisted on mage freedom and equality. Why didn’t he now? “We’re not here to argue about who’s right and who’s wrong in Kirkwall politics today. We’re here to get some long-awaited news, drink ourselves stupid, and come up with a strategy that will take down this sicko who’s been following Hawke around for too long.”

All eyes turned on Hawke, who chose that moment to take another long pull from his cup. Fenris couldn’t blame him.

“So.” Varric clapped his hands together. “Good news first. How did it happen?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You’re not even giving us the option of admitting it?”

Anders looked between them for a second before frowning at Azzan. _“Really,_ Hawke?”

Fenris scowled. Azzan shrugged, but his shoulders lifted that little half-inch higher. “We already discussed this, Anders.”

He’d heard one such conversation. According to the looks sent between these two, however, there had been many more that he’d missed. Anders, sitting on the opposite end of Fenris next to Aveline and Merrill, leaned forward, pushing away his glass to try to loom closer to Azzan. “That guy hates mages, Hawke.”

Azzan winced.

“Well, _I_ think it’s wonderful,” Merrill said, piping up for the first time. She looked to Hawke with a wide grin. “You found each other. I know how much you’ve wanted this. I’m so happy for you.”

Hawke smiled. Right then, Fenris was willing to forgive a few of the girl’s sins for being able to bring that smile back. Had the two of them discussed Azzan’s feelings for him at some point? He saw Merrill’s gaze slide to Isabela as the woman leaned back to glug her glass nearly empty. Merrill’s gaze fell to the woman’s throat as she swallowed.

Fenris looked to Azzan. He hadn’t been the only one to catch the stare. Perhaps they’d had something similar to speak of to one another.

“They’re never going to actually get to say it, are they?” Aveline asked, looking at her drink before shrugging and taking a sip. “You just had me come here so we could all admit we’d known it was going to happen.”

“Basically.” Varric raised his mug. “Grumpy blonds aside, I propose a toast. To a romance far too many years in the making between two idiots who couldn’t figure themselves out with a map.”

“Hey,” Azzan said, though he was still smiling.

“Here, here,” Sebastian said, raising his own drink. To everyone’s surprise, he even took a small sip. His gaze landed on the two of them as he did. Then he put the drink back down on the table and let go of it, likely choosing abstinence for the rest of the night and, Fenris presumed, self-flagellation for daring to sin so heinously.

The others drank to their changed relationship status, as well, save for the mage, who sat with his arms crossed and eyes glaring holes into the table. Azzan turned away from Anders’ place at the table – a kinder rebuff than the mage deserved. For a short time, the talk was merely of how happy their friends were for them, how they’d seen it coming but had been in agony waiting, how they were glad things had worked out. Fenris sensed something more being unsaid, significant glances toward Azzan that were caught but unanswered. Varric passed a message through Sebastian to Hawke that made Azzan’s gaze sweep to his dwarven friend before he slowly shook his head. The answer, whatever the question had been, had made Varric’s lips thin.

Of course, eventually the curiosity couldn’t be contained. Oddly enough, it was the same person who’d defended Hawke that first leaned forward, eyes luminously wide, and asked, “was it romantic?”

Varric _smirked_.

Fenris glared at him. “You are not getting a story out of this,” he said.

“You don’t have to tell me how it happened, Broody. I can make it up as I go along.”

Hawke groaned. “Please don’t.”

“Am I not supposed to ask?” Merrill said, pushing back up.

“No, you absolutely are, kitten,” Isabela told her, smiling down at the young elf. Fenris’ eyes narrowed. Isabela’s gaze lingered, not on Merrill’s chest or her arms or her sides, but on her eyes and lips. Merrill blushed and smiled at the attention, and Isabela leaned slightly forward as if to get closer to her. As if to kiss. She pulled herself back at the last second. She looked dazed.

Well.

Azzan leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and smiled at Merrill. “I’m not certain what you would say is romantic or not, but for me, it was perfect. All of it. Even the parts that weren’t.”

Merrill sighed. Isabela stared at the girl again.

“You got it _bad_ , Hawke. I know I said that before, but it’s even truer looking at you now.” Varric finished his drink just in time for Nina to come up with a few more cups. He waved her inside and grabbed one. Isabela took a second, then Anders. The mage was already mostly through his first one, sulkily sipping at the foamy top and staring gloomily at Azzan. “So what’s the plan? A wedding, little kids running around the manor?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “That’s a bit difficult in our position, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nonsense. There’s a such thing as adoption. Hawke’s nearly adopted the entirety of Kirkwall, for instance.”

Fenris snorted. He leaned back in his chair. “That’s not going to happen. We are not that gentrified, nor our lives so bucolic.” He looked to Hawke. “No matter how much we may wish it, our lives will never allow for such domesticity.”

Azzan took a careful sip, this time watching how much he consumed. Fenris knew how much Azzan wished he could return to his more idyllic, if still difficult, life in Lothering, but they’d both agreed it was too late for anything of the sort. Hawke was well known enough to be called on by Ferelden’s king. Even if he returned to Ferelden, his would be a household name. He would be expected to protect others and attend noble gatherings – he was, after all, recognized nobility now. And no matter where he went, he would be known as a mage. No matter what, Hawke’s life would be hard. Even if Fenris wanted to deal with children – which he did _not_ – such an idea was preposterous based on Hawke’s circumstances alone.

“You never know, Elf. Don’t write off anything.” Varric winked. Fenris scowled.

“No.”

Varric just laughed. He was left huffing, trying to control his ire as everyone got their kicks off on them; Merrill cooed about how cute their kids would have been if they could have had them, and Isabela got in on the act, talking about how hot the act of trying to make it happen would be to watch. Hawke nearly slid off his chair and curled under the table at that.

Sebastian wished them the best, ending Isabela’s musings on who topped more often, and promised to bless them if they wished to go to the Chantry and have it done. Azzan had looked at Fenris for long moments before saying simply, “thank you, Sebastian.” Fenris had a feeling he would be heading to the Chantry soon; the idea reminded him of Varric’s joke about weddings. Yet the idea of being recognized somehow – the idea of a claim, under the eyes of the Maker – made his heart quick-snap to a giddy beat.

He nodded. “We may take you up on that offer.”

Hawke beamed.

Varric chuckled lowly. “Told you,” he lilted, and got Isabela chuckling just as evilly as him.

Conversation turned, after a little while; Merrill asked about Isabela’s hunt for a ship, since she hadn’t gotten one from Castillon; everyone broke up into their own conversations then, with Varric and Sebastian returning to a discussion of aim and spray damage and Aveline grabbing Hawke into talk about the tension in Kirkwall. Anders sat sulking the whole time, his gaze growing hotter and hotter on Hawke until finally Fenris leaned past Hawke and hissed, “if you cannot be happy for him, mage, then leave.”

Anders glared at him. “Happy? Hawke’s chosen someone who insists on despising mages and magic. Not only has he made a _mistake_ , it’s going to hurt him. Hawke has issues, but he’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve dealing with you.”

“Anders.” Azzan cut into their conversation. He turned away from Aveline to address his friend. Fenris winced; that second glass was swiftly emptying despite Azzan’s best efforts. “I love him.”

The words made the conversations die down at the table. Everyone stared at Hawke, then at Anders. Anders grimaced. “Hawke. You know what’s going to happen.”

“You don’t give him enough credit,” Azzan said. His fingers clenched around his cup. “Your anger toward those who harmed you blinds you sometimes, yet you insist on holding the same weakness against others. You are capable of great things, great thoughts, despite those who tried to hold you down. So is he.”

Anders closed his mouth. He didn’t look happy about it, but he finally nodded and let it slide. For the first time, he took a sip of his ale and didn’t glower at anything.

Fenris looked at Azzan. He wasn’t thrilled at being compared once again to the mage, but he couldn’t argue with results. Especially when they gave him insight into how Hawke thought. He’d said harsh things about mages straight to Hawke’s face sometimes, taking his anger and frustration out on the one person who had stood by him. The one person, he must have known even then, who would not turn from him even when he did so. It was something he’d heard people say family did. Yet blood had turned from him. Hawke had not.

Perhaps this was what it meant to _choose_ a family. He looked around. Despite how little they agreed with him on things, every person at the table was celebrating his relationship with Hawke. Even the mage whom he despised was willing to sit at the table with him for Hawke’s sake. Perhaps true family did that. He counted Varric as a brother, Isabela as a sister. He despised the mage, but he was like a brother to Hawke, so like in-laws, they were forced to acknowledge one another. Aveline, as well, was like a big sister to Hawke, despite the things she’d said after leaving the Fade. Sebastian would have been like an uncle if not for his age; perhaps a cousin. Merrill was likely similar to a younger sister to Hawke.

Family. He had never thought of it like that before, but it seemed to suit.

Warm from the inside out, he shifted in his seat and let the ruckus roar on around him. Hawke touched his shoulder, his gaze clearly trying to gauge his mood. Fenris smiled. “What?” he said. “No puns?”

Varric groaned. “Elf.”

Azzan laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m just leaving my options _o-pun._ ”

Varric pointed at Fenris. “This is _your_ fault.”

Fenris grinned and sipped his ale. “I suppose I’m just generous that way.”

Without missing a beat, Azzan concurred. “Yes. He’s generous _to a fault.”_

Everyone at the table groaned.

* * *

Azzan had to lean heavily on him as they stumbled their way into the manor. Fenris fumbled the door for a moment before kicking it closed. Azzan laughed into his chest as he did; he needed to adjust his hold on the man to keep him from tumbling to the lobby floor. “Hawke.”

In the end, the man had drunk far too much, punning his way through the party’s increasingly impossible attempt at improving their tactics. They’d given up several hours in to the exercise, finally trying ineffectually to out-pun Hawke. His victory achieved, he and Fenris had returned home. The word still felt a bit alien, yet the trip, so different than the last time he’d helped Hawke like this back to his house, made the word sound more _right_ than ever.

Hawke nearly draped himself over Fenris. “Fenris, you’re watching me _like a hawk._ Ac-Actually you look caught between _a hawk and a buzzard_. Did you… did you know that you make me _free as a bird?”_ Azzan giggled like a schoolgirl and clung to Fenris’ shoulders.

“More like you’re a _bird-brain,”_ he said, rolling his eyes at Azzan’s cackle. He tried to maneuver them over to the bench. The manor was still and quiet. Bodahn had likely gone to sleep hours ago. Orana, on the other hand, had just as likely stayed up, ensuring Hawke’s safe return. She was likely slipping silently off so they could have their privacy.

Azzan tripped, only stopping from braining himself on the wall by wrapping his arms around Fenris’ neck and dragging him down with him. Fenris caught the both of them just enough to slow their descent to the bench. His clawed fingers clacked against the wall, his knees bending to take the impact. He ended up in Hawke’s lap, legs on either side of Hawke’s. On instinct, Azzan’s hands slid down his back to grip his torso, keeping him from slipping off to the floor. Azzan blinked down at his hands with a dazed frown. His mouth opened and closed. Those fingers clenched and unclenched.

“Hawke.” Azzan looked up at him. His deep blue eyes slowly darkened. Fenris cleared his throat. “You’re drunk.”

Azzan smiled loopily. “Yup.”

Maker help him. “We need to get you to bed.”

Those eyes darkened a bit more. “Uh…”

“To sleep,” he clarified, his own brain a bit slow to process. He’d drunk almost as much as Hawke, but he retained more reason. Enough, for instance, to know there was quite a bit of distance between them and Hawke’s – their – bed.

“Oh.” Azzan looked so disappointed. “Right. Bed.” Those hands fell from his sides. “To sleep.”

Acting on his own instincts, newly honed after years of watching and wanting and yearning, he knelt down before Hawke, putting his gauntleted hands on the man’s thighs. Hawke stared down at him. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Azzan blinked. Twice. Three times. He looked around. “I need more alcohol,” he said, his voice steadier suddenly than it had been in hours.

Fenris’ hands squeezed Hawke’s thighs again. Despite himself, Azzan looked back. “Tell me?”

Azzan’s lips trembled open. “First,” he said, his voice shaky. He closed his lips as if trying to hold the words back. But whether it was because he’d drunk too much, or because the burden was too heavy, he failed. “First, it was Isabela. Then… then you.” Hawke reached out and grabbed Fenris’ hands. Even though his were encased in metal, Hawke squeezed so tightly the pressure pinched the metal into Fenris’ skin. “Then Varric. And I… I was out of mana. All of the demons turned on me, and all of you… I ran. I stayed in the room, running and running, and all I could think was that, if I didn’t heal you, if I fell, then… then… and for what? To prove something? To…” He sobbed out a breath. “You almost died. We all almost died. All because I… no, it doesn’t matter why. I almost lost all of you. I saw it. I saw all of you bleeding and for minutes, I didn’t have the mana reserves to save you.”

Fenris opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed that, now that Azzan had stopped trying to contain them, the words were all pouring out.

“And I thought, why am I fighting? Why am I doing this? This thing wasn’t attacking anyone. It wasn’t an immediate threat. Yet I poked the bear anyway, just to see what would happen. And that’s not it, either. I only just got you. Not – not that you’re a _thing_ , you’re not a _thing_ –”

“I know what you mean,” Fenris said, keeping his voice soft, yet unwilling to hear Hawke fumble with diction when he was finally getting answers.

“But every time I feel this, this…” Hawke made a fluttering motion with one hand, indicating his chest and likely the same giddy happiness that filled Fenris whenever he thought about the two of them together. “I always feel like I’m on some sort of time limit, like something’s going to happen…” Hawke’s voice petered out, and he went strangely silent again. Fenris moved his hands from underneath Hawke’s so that he could grab them up and hold them against the man’s thighs. He remembered being in Hawke’s position, Hawke kneeling before him, offering a silent vow of love on the same night he mourned his mother’s passing.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. Hawke nodded, but he didn’t answer. Fenris frowned. There was something here. Some shadow. It pressed against the space between them, separating them from one another. Did Hawke really fear him leaving? Was Hawke afraid that he would die, just like everyone else he’d ever loved? Fenris held on tighter. He couldn’t promise that it wouldn’t happen. Just that night, he’d spoken on how dangerous their lives were. At any moment, they might meet an enemy they couldn’t defeat. If that day came, as it apparently almost had today? What then?

He already knew he would fall before Hawke did, if only because he wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Hawke. He would fall before Hawke’s eyes, just as he had today. He believed that, if anyone could save him, it was Hawke. Hawke, who had such vast amounts of mana he’d managed to resuscitate all of them two and three times as they’d fought Hybris. Hawke, who had managed to heal gaping wounds as he’d fought the Arishok. But he also knew Hawke wasn’t a god. He could only do so much.

He lifted Hawke up, taking the man’s weight as he wobbled on drunken legs. “I cannot promise nothing will happen,” he said. Hawke stared at their feet and didn’t look up. “But I can promise you this. The day will not come where I will be torn willingly from your side.”

Azzan nodded. It nearly lost him his equilibrium to do so. “All right.”

His voice was so small. How often had Hawke been like this, alone and hurting, showing a brave face for Fenris and the others, only to crumble once he got home? Every time he thought about it, he got angry all over again. He hadn’t known. He’d seen how straight Hawke’s back was and had failed to notice its vulnerability.

He nearly carried Hawke up the stairs, huffing a bit as Hawke’s efforts to hold himself up nearly tumbled them down the stairs. He nearly broke the door to Hawke’s room when the handle didn’t cooperate with him. Hawke chuckled, likely thinking of a pun or two in his head. Fenris smiled a bit at the return to humor and finally got Hawke on his bed. He started pulling off Hawke’s clothes before the man grunted in protest. “Hawke. You cannot sleep like that.”

“I can,” he said, sounding ridiculously contrary before saying, “you aren’t my servant, Fenris. I can take my clothes off myself.” That said, the man fumbled a few times with his robes before realizing the reason they weren’t coming off was because he was sitting on them. When he did, he frowned and flopped onto his back. “I can sleep like this.”

“ _Hawke.”_

Azzan scowled. “No. I’m not–”

“You’re not Danarius,” he huffed, struggling to control his ire. He was tipsy, too. “You are not Danarius, you are _you_. And _you_ are drunk and _I_ am drunk and I want to sleep with my lover without his boots kicking me in my sleep. Do you understand?”

Azzan blinked at the ceiling. “No?”

Fenris growled. “For the love of – I am taking off your boots, and you are going to deal with it.”

Azzan blinked again. “All right?” He managed to untie and yank off one boot before Hawke said, “did you just call me your lover?”

Fenris grunted. “You are _so_ drunk.”

“I think you did,” he said, sounding accusing. Several more moments passed. Fenris managed to take off Azzan’s second boot. He nearly fell backward at the effort. Stars popped at the edges of his vision. His head started to pound. “You did,” Azzan said again, and nodded. “I like it.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Yes, Azzan. I did.” Hawke’s eyes widened, as they always did when he spoke the man’s name. He stood back up and looked Hawke over. He could potentially get the man’s robes off, but it was looking like he would be working with dead weight soon. “And when you wake up and work this out of your system, do you know what I’m going to do?”

Hawke licked his lips and mumbled something that could either be ‘what?’ or ‘wigwam.’ Fenris shook his head, that stupid, light feeling fluttering about in his chest again.

“I’m going to take you. I’m going to watch you go over that edge, where everything boils down to you and me and the need for completion. I’m going to feel it all around me. And you’re never going to doubt that I consider you my lover. My first, and my last.”

Azzan hummed softly. Then snored.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You are not in the bed properly. And you are still dressed.”

More snoring.

Right.

He rolled his shoulders and bent to work. The only solace in having to maneuver Hawke under the covers was the way the man leaned trustingly against him, lips moving against the lyrium on his neck with none of the usual reservation the man showed. He felt Hawke’s healing aura burst to life around him and smiled. Hawke’s instinct at work again.

“I love you,” he murmured into Hawke’s ear.

“Fenris.”

He kissed Hawke’s lips, ignoring the pungent smell of alcohol on the man’s breath. “I’m here.”

Hawke sighed. Fenris felt so much love it almost hurt. He undressed, placed his greatsword in its stand, and slipped under the covers. As usual – as usual for Hawke, for every night they slept together – Hawke wrapped his arms around Fenris and placed his head against Fenris’ chest, right above his heart. He carded his fingers through Azzan’s hair and closed his eyes.

* * *

His promise to Azzan about taking him deep had to wait through a morning of sickness, a breakfast in which Hawke found a letter from his cousin asking for a meet, and an emergency run to Herbert, who had another disaster waiting for Hawke in the mines. Hawke looked at Herbert’s letter and his cousin’s letter, clearly torn. “She needs to meet today, it says,” he said, gnawing on his lips. His eyes were still squinted as he dealt with the headache that certainly pounded behind his eyes.

“I’ll go,” Fenris said. He took the letter from Azzan’s hand. Azzan blinked at him. “I can meet with her. You go deal with Herbert’s problem.”

Azzan hesitated for only a moment. “All right,” he said. “She should recognize you. If not–”

“If not, I will explain the situation. She’ll understand.” Fenris held out his hand. Hawke gave him the letter. “Whatever problems the Pit is giving the two of you now, you can sort it out and return. Whatever information Charade has, you’ll have it when you get back.”

Hawke nodded. “All right.” He leaned out and gave Fenris a quick peck in his cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Fenris grabbed Azzan’s arm as he made to leave. “Be careful,” he said, and gave the man a _proper_ kiss. By the time he pulled away, Azzan’s eyes were a bit glazed. It took a few seconds for him to remember to close his mouth. Fenris smirked.

“Right,” Azzan said, his voice breathy, and wandered off in the vague direction of the main room. Fenris’ smirk widened.

Once he was gone, Fenris looked down at the letter in his hand. It appeared it was time to have a reunion of sorts with Hawke’s cousin.

* * *

He’d been ready to explain who he was and what he was doing when he met up with Charade in Lowtown’s back alleys, but the moment she saw him, she smiled. “Ah! Fenris, right? I guess something came up with Hawke, huh?”

Hawke. Not Azzan. They weren’t to that place yet, then, where she would speak of him by his first name. “He’s checking on something at the mine.”

She made a humming noise, as if she understood exactly what he was talking about. From what Hawke had told him, she likely did. If she really was a part of Red Jenny, then she likely knew more about Kirkwall than even Hawke. “You said you might have information for him?”

She nodded. “I do.” Her steps were light as she came near. No matter how she pretended to be all right with his presence, she was prepared for a fight. She held up a slip of paper. “There’s a little more to support the theory that the person who’s been killing has magic. These are the dates and times people have been attacked. Many have been at night, but several more have been in the middle of the day, or in the afternoon – times when mages were allowed to walk around the Gallows, or times when the templars’ schedules and shifts altered. Times when a mage could slip out of their imposed isolation.”

He stared at the list of times and names, hardly able to make sense of it all. But he could easily recall the group of mages and templars alike, sneaking around after hours to meet up. Azzan’s aggressor could just as easily slip out with the rest. They may have even known about the group of uprisers and – yes, it would make sense that the reason Azzan received that letter saying he’d passed was because the stalker had been aware of the ongoing event and had used it to his own benefit.

“So it is a mage.” Of course it was. When wasn’t it? He gritted his teeth. Yet another one using their power to get what they wanted. “Do you know who?” he asked, looking up from the paper.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But the description Varric and his men put out, along with the knowledge that the person traveled through Darktown, gave us a few ideas. Anyone who’s no one knows to head through Darktown to avoid being seen, even when all eyes are on you. This person doesn’t know how to blend in, or how to act casually to deter suspicion. That would mean either nobility or, since this is a mage, growing up in a Circle.

“But that’s not all. How many people have a description that matches what we’ve been given _and_ is a known mage? If it weren’t for how crazy the woman was, I’d say to ask Meredith.”

Fenris looked at Charade. “You think she’s crazy.” He didn’t state it as a question, yet she answered.

“Of course. Do you know how many times she sends men to go snooping around Hawke’s home? That’s one of the reasons why I don’t think it’s a templar. A templar could just volunteer for the post and have line of sight on Hawke for his stalking. Instead, that’s still on rotation, and no templar is allowed to do it alone, since most who did are now dead.” Fenris raised both brows. “Hence why Hawke hasn’t heard of those particular deaths; I doubt Meredith wants him to know she’s been stalking him, too.”

Fenris grimaced. “Watching a mage doesn’t mean she’s crazy,” he said, even as his insides writhed. Once again, it seemed more like this person had been protecting Hawke. It was infuriating. He knew very well what Azzan had suffered because of this man, yet he was also being shown that only such a person had even known about Azzan’s situation and had chosen to do something about it. It left him torn. He wanted this person dead, but what would that mean for Hawke in the long run?

Charade still hadn’t spoken. He lifted his head to see her assessing him. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. Her lips pulled back in a grimace. “Just wondering what Hawke sees in you.”

He scowled. “Our relationship is none of your business.”

“He’s my cousin. It _is_ my business.” She pointed at the paper. “On the back are a few names, people who some friends of mine think fit the bill. And Fenris?” He folded the paper and stepped back, ready to leave and be done with this. “Try to not be such a dick to Hawke’s face.”

He stormed off.

It took several minutes of stomping to finally run out of energy. He stared at the crumpled mass of paper in his hand and stopped in the middle of the street to smooth it out.

If he let himself calm down – which he didn’t want to do; _she didn’t deserve it_ – he could understand where she was coming from. She lived a different life, from a different perspective. And for her, it was likely that the only mage she’d ever really gotten to know was Hawke. If someone’s first introduction to mages was Azzan, then Fenris could easily understand their desire to see mages as good people, when the truth was that they were the same as everyone else. People who had power over others abused it. It was that simple. For mages, who were born with more power than others, using it on those around them became common sense.

Hawke was proof that there were exceptional people in the world. People who looked at the power they had and chose to instead use it to help others. He wasn’t the rule. Fenris knew that all too well. So did Hawke.

Charade, who thought the problem was much simpler than that, likely heard Fenris’ words and thought he was condemning Hawke for being a mage. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know Hawke. She just wanted to protect him, and was going about it poorly.

It made him want to scratch her eyes out.

For once, Hawke had someone on his side. That was what he should take out of the experience. If only she hadn’t told him to not be a dick to Hawke. As if she understood any of his feelings when it came to Azzan. As if she…

As if she _knew_. About those times when pain and rage had filled him, and he’d taken them out on Hawke, and she found him somehow _wanting_. As if he wasn’t good enough for Hawke. He knew he shouldn’t have said those things. He knew he’d hurt Azzan by saying them. He’d apologized for them. Hawke had said he understood. Yet still this woman wished to hold those moments against him, as if he wasn’t trying to move forward from his past and those who had hurt him.

He stared at that list of names and times and dates and wondered if anyone else felt the same as her. If _Hawke_ felt the same way.

His fingers clenched around the paper again. He didn’t, did he? But he must have, at least once. Especially during those first years, when Fenris had refused to trust what every moment in Azzan’s presence told him. Surely, during that time, Azzan had thought Fenris hated him because of his magic. Fenris had, in fact, been leery of him, and his motivations, and his relationship with that Faith spirit. How many times had his suspicions seemed to be, as Charade had so inelegantly put it, ‘him being a dick’?

He’d told Hawke that his hate wasn’t without cause. He didn’t truly care what Anders or Merrill or Charade thought of him. What mattered was what _Azzan_ thought of him.

He wasn’t angry with Charade for saying something rude and stupid. He was angry with himself for seeming that way, even in Hawke’s presence, in such plenitude as to necessitate multiple apologies over the years.

And, perhaps, he was also upset that one of Hawke’s few remaining relatives would think of him in such a way. Why did that upset him? He wasn’t sure.

By the time he’d nearly gotten back to the mansion, his mind was rushing back and forth, confused as to its direction. He reached out for the door to the mansion, only to pause. Something didn’t feel right.

He looked around. Hightown was quieter than usual, but that had become its new norm. Most people chose to hide inside their homes instead of coming out and daring to catch the eye of Meredith. As if she was some bow tensed to launch an arrow in any direction. His concerns were more valid – her bow always aimed at mages, and now he had one to protect.

A man stood by the Keep, his hands in the pockets of his breeches. Fenris narrowed his eyes. He didn’t wear a hood. After a long moment of nothing happening, he dared head inside.

Because of the feeling he’d gotten, he’d expected someone to be waiting for him, some attack or message or something. But nothing. He waited just inside the door for several moments, but again, nothing.

“Can I help you – oh! Serah Fenris. Welcome back.”

Fenris turned. Bodahn grinned at him, ever the perfect servant. Fenris stepped into the building. “Have there been any visitors?”

“None. Were you expecting someone?”

He shook his head. “No.”

The moment he stepped through the lobby into the main room, he paused. Suitcases lined the side of the wall. Sandal, usually standing by his tools or wandering around getting into mischief, was carrying a sack toward the pile.

“Ah, yes. I don’t know if the master told you, but Sandal and I are getting ready to leave. We’ll be gone in a week, I should say.”

A week? Hawke hadn’t mentioned it. Did he know? Did he know that his home was about to get even smaller? Even quieter?

He turned to Orana. She stood by the hearth, putting down her lute even as he entered. She placed her hands before her. “Master Fenris. Would you like something to eat?”

His stomach rumbled. He’d walked mindlessly through the city for a long time. He must have skipped a meal somewhere along the way. “Yes. Thank you.” He looked around, then followed her out of the room. She tilted her head and moved to the side, in case he wished to pass her. When he didn’t, she stopped. “No, you’re fine. I just want to ask a question.” She tilted her head and waited. Then, the next instant, took his silent cue and kept walking. Trained by Tevinter, indeed.

Only when they were passed the main entrance and the library, past where the two could hear, did he stop walking. She stopped immediately, as well. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She frowned. “I am well, master.”

He held up his hand, only to grimace when she stopped talking on cue. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly put his hand down, ashamed that he had so easily adopted the old practice. He was used to relegating orders to other servants when told. It had left him abandoned in the household, below the upper and above the lower. He’d hated it, yet here he was. “My apologies. I mean, when you came here, it was to a house with many people in it. Soon it will only be Hawke.”

“And you,” she pointed out, leaving him momentarily silent. She waited a few moments, then spoke. “I came because the master offered me a place here. Mistress Hawke was kind, and I liked her. But she was not my master. Serahs Bodahn and Sandal have been very kind and helpful, but they are sla – servants,” she said, correcting herself with flushed cheeks and a downward swipe of her head. Stray hairs fell from her forehead to point to the floor. “They come and go,” she said, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “But I am fine, so long as I can remain here.”

She waited. “All right,” he said. After another moment to see if he had anything else he wished to ask, she headed to the kitchen. He let her go, hardly knowing what to do with himself. Hawke would certainly allow her to stay, for her entire life if she wished. Secretly, he likely hoped for it. Azzan was someone who hated being alone.

He returned to the library, only to end up staring out the windows. Hawke often left them closed these days, for obvious reasons. Fenris was the one to open a few of them back up. Hawke, of course, didn’t put up so much as token protest, so he’d limited it to places Hawke rarely visited. Even though he’d willingly moved in, he felt stifled somewhat; Hawke placed no restrictions on him, yet Fenris couldn’t help remembering how easy it had been to come and go without anyone the wiser. Here, he couldn’t so much as cross the threshold without someone greeting him.

It was also harder to hold his card games with Varric. They would meet in the old mansion, even though Fenris no longer lived there, if only to capture the old feeling that it was their time – _his_ time – and his group of friends, more than Hawke’s. He hadn’t brought it up to Azzan; he was concerned Azzan would take it as a sign that he was unsure about his decision to live here.

It was still early afternoon. Hawke would have arrived at the Bone Pit by now. He wondered what it was like. How bad it looked. More drakes? More undead? Perhaps raiders or slavers? Or more giant spiders, perhaps. Who knew with that place?

He stood there, watching the neighboring buildings and the few people walking past his line of sight, until Orana called him over for his late lunch.

* * *

It wasn’t until well past sundown when he finally heard the front door open and close, signifying Azzan’s return. He closed the book he’d been failing to read and hurried to meet him. His mouth opened on a greeting, only for him to suck in a breath. “Hawke!” He ran forward, past the tables and the suitcases, and grabbed the man’s shoulder. Azzan walked without issue, but blood caked his robes and long, rough gashes marred the thick cloth. “What happened?”

Azzan smiled at him. Fenris wanted to rip the fake grin off his face. “Those drakes – we should have paid closer attention, Fenris. There was a high dragon there.”

Fenris paled. “What?”

He should have gone. He should have gone. _He should have gone._

“She’d already destroyed everything. Everyone… Harram, Frederick, Gould. They were all dead. The carts…” Azzan ran a hand through his hair. It got stuck, as usual, and he had to fight to get his hand free. Even so, countless locks of hair had already fallen loose. He looked haggard, even with his back straight. “We managed to defeat it, though…”

“All that blood,” Fenris said.

Hawke grimaced. “Most of it is Aveline’s.”

Fenris jerked, his hand spasming around Hawke’s flesh even as the man’s tone sunk in. He sounded like he was simply handing Fenris information, not as if he was grieving. Aveline must have been fine. Still, he asked. “Is she well?”

Hawke nodded, and the last of Fenris’ tension sifted away.

“Orana’s gone to bed,” he said, changing the subject before he could look down at those cuts again and lose his mind. Surprise crossed Azzan’s face at the news; usually Orana stayed up no matter what. “I told her I would take care of you. I… believe she connoted a separate meaning from the remark.”

Azzan digested the words, and likely the blush that went with them, before smiling widely. “You don’t _care_ for her interpretation? I think she’s _remarkably_ insightful.”

Fenris groaned. “In any case,” he said, just to stop Hawke before he could make more puns, “your robe is – I don’t think it’s salvageable.”

Hawke looked down at himself and laughed. “What, this? You don’t think it’s _robe_ -ust enough?” Fenris cocked a brow. “No,” Hawke said finally, letting his mirth settle. “I’ll need something else. I’ve already asked someone to make me a new armor and put a rush on it. Thankfully, this guy has been itching to make something for me.”

Something Azzan wouldn’t have wanted, since accepting something made for a fighter wouldn’t suit him, and wearing something made for a mage would be rubbing his magehood in the templars’ faces. Now, however, it couldn’t be helped. That robe could no longer hide Hawke’s figure, let alone protect him.

It made him wonder just how close it had been, just how deep those claws had dug. He looked Azzan over again, even though he was certain that, by now, whatever injuries he’d sustained had been healed. The rips in his fabric were worse around his lower legs; Hawke may have fought a High Dragon – the very idea of which still chilled his blood – but he’d also fought its children.

He hadn’t meant for this when he’d told Orana he could take care of Hawke, but he couldn’t deny that, at the moment, all he wanted to do was touch the man and reaffirm he was safe and warm and alive.

“Then,” he said, and deliberately slid his hands down Azzan’s chest, “allow me to help you take these robes off one last time.”

The teasing grin turned into something else entirely as those pupils dilated. Azzan’s throat worked for a moment. Those big blue eyes slid to Fenris’ lips. He licked them. Azzan groaned. “Yes, please,” he said, and dipped his head down for a kiss – leaving that last inch, once more, for Fenris to breach. He did so with a roll of his eyes. Hawke at least let himself touch Fenris after that, scooting in closer, until their chests and thighs touched, and placing those warm hands of his on either side of Fenris’ hips. Fenris gripped Hawke’s torn robes in both hands and dragged him back toward the stairs. Their lips never parted, Fenris urging Hawke’s tongue to duel with his. He grinned as they made it to the top landing and took the chance to breathe. “You’re getting better.”

“You _better bet_ I’m getting better,” Azzan said, and laughed at the face he made.

“Ugh, you’re lucky I love you.”

He hurried to the bedroom, tugging Hawke along by his hand. He expected a pun about luck or love or something. He didn’t expect Hawke’s soft, “yes. I am.”

This man. This incredible man.

* * *

“Hawke.” He looked at the man beneath him, at the teeth gritted and the shoulders flung back, at the sweat glistening on his chest and his brow and his neck, places practically begging for Fenris’ teeth and tongue. Azzan gasped for air, his entire body shuddering in its tension. Fenris could feel the struggle for control around his member, Hawke’s walls squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing, as Hawke tried to keep himself still.

“Hawke,” he said again, then, “Azzan.” Finally, those beautiful eyes opened. Fenris cupped the man’s cheek. “I can feel how close you are.” Somehow, Azzan found some new reserve of blood to soak his cheeks with. “Come.”

Hawke keened at the practiced snap of Fenris’ hips. “No,” he said. His voice was reedy and breathless and didn’t sound at all certain in its conviction. “You. You first.”

Fenris nearly sputtered. They’d been together how many times now? He tried to think back, to remember how often Hawke had come first. The first couple of times, almost certainly. Azzan had been so new to it all. But after that? He couldn’t recall, but suddenly, he was quite certain the answer was ‘slim to never.’ He remembered his desire, over and over again, to break Hawke free from the idea that he had to treat Fenris like glass and cursed himself for not pushing harder, for not speaking sooner. “Azzan,” he breathed. Azzan’s entire body trembled; tendons in his neck stood out in prominence as he strained to pull back from the edge. “You have no idea.” Azzan looked up at him. “No idea how it feels – how this, right now, feels to me. I can feel your body squeezing around me. I can feel your walls trembling as you near your climax.

“Right now, you feel absolutely incredible. But I know it will feel even better when you come around me, your body convulsing, your walls clamping and clenching around me. I want that. Give that to me, Azzan.”

Hawke whimpered. This time when Fenris snapped his hips and pressed once more against Hawke’s prostate, the man screamed and came. It was breathtaking. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Fenris couldn’t help but ride Azzan’s orgasm like a storm, his own pleasure roaring to a crescendo until he came, as well, crying out Azzan’s name like a prayer as that warmth flew through him once more.

* * *

“I want you, Hawke,” he said several hours later, when the sun had barely begun to crest the tops of Hightown’s walls. “I want every part of you. You don’t need to fear me seeing someone else when I look at you.” He looked at Hawke’s lids as they flickered. Dreaming. Something that, for Hawke, meant so much more than it did for him. A place in which Fenris could not protect him. Only that spirit of his could.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve let Danarius go. He has no place in my life anymore. So please.” He traced Hawke’s chin, its stubble, then up Hawke’s cheek to his brow and the strands sitting on his temple. “Let’s both leave him behind. All right?”

Hawke nuzzled into his hand, murmuring nonsense sounds into his palm. Fenris smiled.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Only three left! We're winding down on this story.


End file.
